


1 A.M. (nostalgia)

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Angst and Porn, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Nostalgia, Sexual Content, strilonde family, they have sex on a porch in the middle of the night and its sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Missed you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1 A.M. (nostalgia)

**Author's Note:**

> the entirety of this au is explained IN the fic but p much:
> 
> roxy and dirk are best friends growing up, but they have a sort of friends-with-benefits relationship as teenagers/early adults. during a lapse of judgement, they produce dave and rose. since they stayed friends, dirk took dave and roxy took rose; however, they visit each other often and pretty much raise them like siblings (tho the twins dont know they're twins, so rose doesnt have a dad and dave doesnt have a mom)

Your daughter is blonde, with olive skin and purple eyes. She shares the “odd eye color” gene with you and her mother. Before she’s even a full year old, she’s toppling around in an attempt at walking, and by one and a half, she’s started talking a little. Mostly, she’s a quiet girl, but you’ve heard her say “Mommy” and a few other things of that sort. By three, her sentences are advanced and well-thought out, and she grows up to be well-thought out as well.

Besides her eye color, she’s the spitting image of her mother.

They share the same big, round eyes, full lips, and round cheeks. Even though she has your nose, it’s still very obvious she’s her mother’s daughter. The only other immediately noticeable difference is her mother’s skin is a lot darker.

Her mother names her Rose the day she’s born, and you name your son that same day. They’re twins, of course, and you each decided to choose a name. It was only fitting that they ended up being a boy and a girl.

Dave is blonde, but his hair is paler than his sister, with olive skin and red eyes. He’s managed to get the same eye pigment gene as the others’ in your makeshift family. By the time he’s one, he’s up and about, prancing around the house, but he still holds your hand in public areas. He babbles on and on as he learns to talk, his sentences rhyming more often than not, and ending in an incomplete thought as he forgets what he was saying halfway through. He stays scatterbrained, but puts it to good use.

Besides his eye color, he’s the spitting image of you.

Their mother’s name is Roxanne Riley Lalonde. The two of you grew up together as best friends, and are still currently that. However, there were a few…flings, to say the least, and the twins are the product of that. You’d decided to stay close friends, but didn’t want to get married. You and Dave live in an apartment together, while her and Rose live in a large house a few streets away. You visit each other often.

When the kids are four years old, you go on a vacation together to a small lake house in Florida. Roxy and you share a room, while the kids get their own, and things are actually a lot of fun.

It’s the second day you four are there when things get a little less fun. At about one A.M, Roxy starts an argument with you in your bedroom that escalates. Since the kids are sleeping and you don’t want them to wake and find the two of you fighting, you guide her to the porch and continue the discussion there.

She calms down after ten more minutes of raising her voice a little and making passive-aggressive remarks about everything. But once the ten minutes are up, she’s crying, and shrivels up in your arms. The two of you sit on the hardwood porch as you pull her into your lap and rock her like a child.

“It’s okay, shh, it’s okay…” you keep telling her, and she’s mumbling gibberish about how she fucked up with Rose, how she’s not fit to be a mom—about how, goddammit, the twins don’t even know they’re twins! Rose doesn’t have a father and Dave doesn’t have a mother.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing, and once she’s calmed down and stopped crying, she pulls away and wipes the remaining tears from her face.

“They deserve better,” she says.

“Yeah, they do, Rolal,” you console. “But we’re already doing the best we can.”

The woman looks down and furrows her eyebrows at the floor. “We aren’t though.”

Your expression then mirrors hers. “What else can we do besides raise them right and keep the twins in touch?”

“We could get married.”

…Silence.

“I mean,” she continues, “then they would have a _real_ family. They deserve _that_ at least.”

“Yeah, but…” you don’t know what to say.

“Do you really not like the idea of us getting married _that_ _much_ , Dirky?”

“What?” You blink. She sounds like she’s in genuine pain. “No, that’s not it.”

“Then, what…?”

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “I just…don’t want to get married at such a young age…”

“Dirk.” She’s stern. “You have _children_. _Four-year-old children_ , and you’re worried about you being _too young_ to marry?”

You don’t respond.

Roxy looks away. After a moment, she stirs again, looks at you, turns away again. She does it two more times before you finally ask what it is.

“Can…can I try something?”

You raise an eyebrow at her request, but you’re curious nonetheless and allow her to continue.

“Just…” she sets her hand on your cheek and turns you towards her, “c’mere…”

Then you’re kissing.

It’s nothing new, you’ve kissed before (obviously) but it’s been about a year since the last time, and she’s so _intense_ about it, and you didn’t realize how much you missed kissing her until now. Her hands go to your chest immediately, and you kiss back with just as much enthusiasm. She tastes like bubblegum and cheap wine and chocolate ice cream.

Things escalate quickly. It only takes a few minutes of kissing before she tugs at your shirt collar and climbs into your lap, mumbling something against your lips that you don’t catch. Her hands run through your hair after a moment, and you feel her suck in a breath when you nip at her bottom lip. When it becomes evident to you what she wants, a spike of anxiety and then excitement shoots through you; you push down the anxiety and run your hands down her back softly.

“Please, Dirk,” she whispers, pulling away from the kiss, and how the fuck are you supposed to say no when she’s looking at you like that?

You nod silently, a little breathless, and she starts grinding against your crotch, running her hands down your shirt and fumbling to unbutton it. Lifting your arms above your head, you let her slip your shirt off of you, and she tosses it somewhere haphazardly. Roxy mumbles something to herself, something like, “finally that damn thing’s off,” and you smile a little when she runs her hands down your chest. When the two of you were involved, she always loved feeling your muscles and skin; she touched you a lot—not always sexually, but especially when getting intimate.

Not to mention how much she loved it when reciprocated. You trail your hands down her sides and tug at her own shirt. “Off,” you say.

“Someone’s demanding,” she teases. Even as she’s unbuttoning the top, she says, “Do I get a please?”

“ _Please_ take it off.”

Roxy smiles slyly. “Your wish is my command.” Low and behold, you’re eyelevel with her bra in a moment, her garment tossed in the general direction of your own.

“Nice bra,” you comment.

“’Idn’t it? Bought it juuust for you.” She winks and brings her arms behind her back to unhook it. “Such a shame it’s gotta be taken off.”

“Seriously?”

“’Course. Forty-five dollars for this shit.”

“No.” You roll your eyes a little. “Not about that—about buying it for me.”

The blonde finishes taking off said clothing item before she gives you a sly smile. “Would it bother you if I said yes?”

You think about it for a moment as she readjusts her position in your lap. “Not really, nah,” you decide. The hardwood is hurting your ass a little, so you scoot up to get more comfortable.

“Good,” she purrs, and you would push the conversation a little bit more if she wasn’t suddenly kissing your neck and sliding her hands down your torso again. She fumbles with the buckle on your belt, and it’s weirdly cute; you snicker at her quietly.

“Oh, shut up,” she complains, finally managing to get it undone. She sits in your lap for a moment and looks down.

“You gonna get off me so I can take these off or what?”

“What?” She blinks. “Oh. Oh, yeah, right.”

After she climbs off you, you strip yourself of any remaining clothes, and she bites her lip, eyes scanning your body, before getting back in her original position and returning to suck on your neck. You’re semi already—not surprising—and she takes your hands from lying limply, awkwardly next to you and sets them on her hips. You massage circles into her skin gently.

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one completely exposed,” you comment, and she hums into your collarbone in response, nipping at your skin. “Mind if I take care of that?”

“Not at all.” She only pulls away for a moment to respond and smile at you before she’s back to your neck. You take her panties and pajama shorts off in one fowl tug, and she groans in frustration at having to take away from her current work to kick them off from around her ankles.

Then she’s on your lap again, except this time there’s no fabric to render contact, and it sinks in that this is _actually_ happening, you’re doing this with Roxy again, even though you promised yourself that, for her sake, you wouldn’t. You think absently that you’ll hate yourself for this in the morning, but right now you’re too turned on and eager to do much else but grind back against her and squeeze her ass less than gently.

Roxy squeaks in surprise at the contact, and you start to say sorry, but you’re cut off with more kissing. “Do that again,” she says, so you do, and she grins and grabs your face in her hands and grinds down on your dick and kisses you again and _fuck_.

You moan, and she sighs contently in response, taking your hands from off her ass and setting them on her chest. She used to do that all the time; she always liked you to touch her breasts. Once she said it had something to do with how calloused your hands are—apparently to her, calloused hands, plus erogenous zones, equals large amounts of pleasure. Not that you’re complaining or anything.

“Condom?” You ask. “I didn’t…think to bring any…”

“That’s—that’s fine,” she says hastily.

“Then…?”

“Pill,” she provides. “Besides…I wanna feel you again, without shit in the way…”

You nod a little, confused but not wanting to push it. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

There’s a few minutes where you two don’t do anything else but kiss and grind and touch, but then she’s getting impatient, you assume, because she pulls away from the kiss and positions herself in your lap correctly.

“Is this okay?” She asks, and you’re not sure what part she’s referring to—the position or the actual thing. But either way it’s a yes, so you nod, and she takes your dick, now fully hard, and then she’s got your head inside her and after a few more grinds, all of it, and _shit_.

“Shit,” you vocalize your thoughts.

Roxy laughs a little. “That a good ‘shit’ or bad ‘shit’?”

“Good,” you fumble to reply, because she’s started moving a little. “Yeah, it’s good. _God_ , I missed you.”

She puts her hands on your shoulders to steady herself, and you hold her hips to help her with that. Her laugh is breathy and quiet. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“I know, but I—fuck, I missed this, I missed…” You can’t even finish what you’re saying because she’s found a steady pace and is sticking with it and you _moan_.

“I missed you t-too.” One of her hands goes to rub her clit in sync with her riding you. You would offer to do it for her, but the angle you’re at currently would make it difficult and probably less pleasurable, so you’re content to run your hands over her ass and kiss her when she wants you to.

She keeps sighing into your mouth, one hand on your shoulder to steady herself, and you move your hips a little to meet her, and she pulls away from kissing you to whisper sweet nothings and you won’t register half of what she’s said until much later, but right now, you’re not complaining. You just love the sound of her voice and her body against yours and the sounds she makes when you touch her just right.

“—love you, oh god, I love…I love you so much, Dirk, I’m so sorry this all had to happen, I love you so, so much…I love you, I love you…” She keeps saying that over and over again, and your legs are starting to ache from moving in the same position, and you force your eyes open to look at her the entire time and make sure you see her when she orgasms.

Her face forms a perfect ‘o’ in a silent scream, and she barely lets out a whimper, her hips moving erratically and then you’re. You’re just. You finish a moment after her.

She doesn’t stop moving until you’ve both climbed down, and then it’s just her leaned against your chest, body covered in sweat from the hot summer air, and you pull her head off your chest to look you in the eyes.

You don’t say anything, just kiss her gently and pull away. She gets off you, and something akin to regret flashes across her face before she redresses. You slip your boxers and shirt back on, but don’t bother with your pants.

Roxy gets up and starts to make her way to the door, but you speak up before her hand is even on the handle.

“What, is this a fuck-and-run?” You ask, raising an eyebrow even while she isn’t facing you. “You wound me, Rox.”

You don’t see it, but you know she smiled. “You’re ridiculous, ya know that, Strider?”

“Probably,” you grin, and she grins back, all pearly white teeth and full lips.

She shakes her like she can’t believe what she puts up with, turns back around and lies down on the hard wood next to you. You pull her to your chest and hug her tightly. After a moment, she hugs back, and you feel the real her starting to return.

“Missed you,” you mumble into her hair.

“I missed you too.” Roxy’s voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear it, and she sounds a bit hoarse. “Did you, um…” she starts to ask you something.

“Did I…?”

“Did you hear, uh, what I said? While we were…?” She elaborates a little, but she won’t look you in the eyes.

You shake your head and pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about, but she sighs with relief quietly and nods before dropping the subject and relaxing in your arms, so you think you made the right choice.

But when she falls asleep in your arms like that, and it’s just you, the rising sun, and bubbling nostalgia, you can’t help but tell her you love her too.


End file.
